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Mortal Enemies
by Laure Alexander
Prologue
Buffy stepped off the bus into dry heat and looked around as she waited
for her bag to be unloaded. There were a lot of cars zooming past--many
more than she ever would have guessed were in the entire state of
Kansas, let alone one little town.
And, even though she was surrounded by buildings, the sky seemed endless.
Picking up her bag, she began to trudge up the street to the cheap
looking motel she had seen from the bus as they had passed it. She had
enough money for a couple of nights if she was lucky, then she'd be
tapped out.
She would have saved enough for a Big Mac meal too if she had gotten off
at the last stop--the capital she vaguely remembered from geography
lessons, surely a large city-- but one look at Topeka and her mind had
said 'no way'. The next stop had been as far as she could go if she
wanted to sleep in a bed rather than on a park bench for more than a night.
So, here she was in Lawrence, Kansas, wondering what the Hell she was
going to do with the remainder of her most- likely short life.
*****
Part 1
Buffy awoke at dawn to a really annoying sound coming through the paper
thin walls of her motel room. It was a loud raspy buzz with a whine in
it. Wondering what the Hell it was, she pulled herself from the bed and
stumbled over to the window. Pulling open the curtains, she blinked in
the early morning sun, but didn't see anything that might make such a
horrendous noise.
Yawning, she groped her way into the bathroom to take a shower. Item
number one on the list of things to do that day was buy a newspaper,
quickly followed by item number two which was find a job.
*****
At 7:00 Buffy left her motel room to head for the nearby McDonalds for
breakfast. She was immediately assaulted by what seemed like a million
flying, buzzing bugs rising from the tree outside her room. Battling her
way through them, she made her way to the relative safety of the parking
lot.
"Great. I've moved to bug world," she muttered under her breath as she
stalked down the street.
As she bought her breakfast and a paper, she was informed that the bugs
were locusts and that the town was at the convergence of two separate
cycles. In other words--a plague. Just perfect for her mood.
*****
Finding a job was ridiculously easy. Apparently, Lawrence had a very
transient young population and there were a lot of employers willing to
hire day labor without references.
By noon, Buffy was digging potatoes on a farm north of town alongside
two young men and one woman. At a break they all sat under a large shade
tree, drinking bottles of Gatorade. The other three--Tad, Janice and
Quinton--had been traveling together for over a year.
"Yeah, we spent the summer here last year. It's a great town. Lots of
cool people. Great music. The cops are pretty cool, too," Janice said
between swigs of her drink.
"They don't roust you unless you're causing trouble. They get on
panhandling, though, but there are always jobs like these in the
summer," Tad added.
"So, where are you from, Buffy?" Quinton asked.
"Southern California. A little pit of a town an hour from L.A."
"Cool. We were in Frisco for a while last winter," Tad said.
Buffy was a little surprised that these kids, just a few years older
than her own seventeen, spent their lives traveling around the country.
It was a new phenomenon to her. "So, where do you stay here?"
Janice pointed back towards the town. "About two miles down this road
there's a campground. We just pitch a tent. There are showers and a
shop. The owner is pretty cool. Used to tour with some ancient rock band
and is really into hippy stuff, so he gives us a decent rate."
Quinton stood up, brushing down his baggy camouflage pants. "Better get
back to it. Hey, if you ain't doing anything after work, there are some
great local bands playing at a club downtown where they have real cheap
sandwiches. You want to come with?"
Buffy thought about it for a split second. She didn't really want to
have a good time ever again, but a girl needed to eat. "Sure."
*****
One month passed pretty quickly as Buffy settled into life in Lawrence,
Kansas. Her speedy work on the farm had gotten her hired on for the rest
of the summer and after three weeks at the campground, she had been able
to rent a small, furnished trailer. She could afford it as long as she
lived off hamburger helper and canned vegetables and walked everywhere.
She kept herself too busy to think much about the life she had left
behind. Sometimes she wondered what her friends were up to, if her mom
was okay. A few times she had reached for a pay phone and just stopped
herself from calling someone. The merest hint of a thought about Angel
was brutally shoved to the back of her mind.
Her days fell into a welcome pattern. Up before dawn, a two mile walk to
work, eight hard hours in the field, a two mile walk back to her
trailer, shower, dinner, then hopefully dreamless sleep. On the
weekends, she usually hung out on the downtown main street--which for
some reason was not called Main Street, but was known as Massachusetts
Street--with her new friends, going to clubs, playing video games and
watching the world pass her by. Anything to prevent herself from having
to think.
Her new friends didn't know much about her. That way, no one would get
close enough to her to get hurt. She was still the Slayer, after all,
although she hadn't seen anything worth slaying since her arrival. That
was probably a good thing. Her anger at demons in general and vampires
in specific had been building into a simmering fury for over a month.
The first vampire to cross her path would probably get the pounding of
his or her unlife before being staked.
*****
A Saturday night in mid July found Buffy walking back across the bridge
from the downtown just after midnight. Quinton had, for the dozenth
time, tried to convince her to spend the night with him and rather than
hang around watching him nurse her rejection with beer, she had decided
to split.
A part of her wondered why she couldn't just fling herself into a one
night stand with him or with any of the guys who had asked her in the
last month. But the larger part of her knew why. Her body was cold and
dead and she preferred it that way. Being held and caressed might just
bring her back to life and that was the last thing she wanted.
Of course, she still loved Angel as well, although she didn't allow
herself to think about him as being the real excuse for not wanting to
sleep with anyone else.
Living on the streets--or near enough to it--for the past month, Buffy
had seen a side of life she had only heard about. The kids here lived
hand to mouth. Most slept in the parks or at the campground. None of the
girls were alone. It was a well accepted fact that it was easier to get
by with a guy--someone to share the expenses with, someone to protect
you from the creeps that were out there. Sometimes love was involved,
but more often relationships were formed for survival and companionship.
Their lives were nothing she had been prepared for. She had been raised
to be like some of the college girls who came downtown on the weekends
to shop, driving their daddy's cars and smelling of designer perfume.
Sometimes it was hard to remember that she had once been just like them.
Suddenly a car screeched to a halt beside her, causing her to jump in
surprise. As she spun around, Buffy took in the large black car, then
stumbled back against the bridge railing in even more surprise at the
sight of the figure emerging from the driver's side.
"I knew I recognized that butt!"
With a wide grin on his face, Spike flicked his cigarette away and
circled the front of the car.
*****
Part 2
Buffy began to slide slowly along the railing of the bridge, her hand
moving inconspicuously into her tote bag, her eyes never leaving the
figure circling the front of the car, a wide grin on his face.
"Slayer! What a lovely surprise, finding you in the middle of nowhere."
Buffy continued to move backwards as he approached. Her searching hand
grasped around a stake and she yanked it free of the bag. In a
blindingly swift move, Spike grabbed the hand that held the stake and
pinned it behind her back. Successfully blocking her attacking knee, he
shoved her against the railing, bending her ever so slightly backwards.
"And here I thought we were bestest of friends," Spike said with a hint
of menace in his voice.
Buffy gasped at the dizziness that flooded her, her ears filling with
the sound of the water rushing over the dam thirty feet below her. She
knew that if she managed to push him away, she could easily topple over
the side. Going against every instinct she had, Buffy forced herself to
relax.
"Sorry, Spike. Reflex action," she quipped in a shaky voice.
The grin returning to his face, if not to his eyes, Spike slowly pulled
her away from the edge of the bridge and released her, taking a step
back. Buffy immediately attacked, plunging the stake towards his chest.
Barely managing to sidestep instant death, Spike flung himself towards
his car. Spinning around, his demon at the fore, he backhanded his
attacker, sending her flying into the railing.
The pain surprised her. It had been over a month since anyone had hit
her. Memories of the last fight she had been a participant in swamped
her and Buffy sank to her knees, facing the moonlit river. Silently she
began to cry as the dam inside her broke, freeing the emotions that were
always there under the tightly controlled surface.
"Get up," Spike growled harshly from behind her. Buffy ignored him,
waiting, nearly praying for the death she hadn't had the courage to seek
out. "Don't die on your knees, girl!" A clawed hand dug into her
shoulder and jerked her to her feet. Turning her, Spike raised his hand,
preparing to slash her throat. At the sight of the tears leaking from
her closed eyes, the torment in her expression, he let her go, his face
morphing back to normal. "This just won't do," he muttered petulantly.
"It isn't fun if you don't fight back, pet."
Buffy's eyes flew open to stare at him. The humor had returned to his
eyes as he leaned back against his car, arms crossed over his chest. Why
wasn't he killing her? She swallowed hard and muttered through her
tears, "Get it over with, Spike."
"Can't do it, luv. Right now you're too pathetic to kill." He made a
tsking noise. "Sloppy attack, giving up way too soon, tears...Not much
of a slayer, are we."
The sarcasm in his voice was almost enough to make her angry, but that
emotion had become so foreign to her she let it be overwhelmed by the
pain and guilt she lived with. The tears continued to flow as she
wrapped her arms around herself, trying not to think or feel anything.
"Slayer, this is getting really pitiful."
"Stuff it, Spike," she choked out. As a sob broke from her, she spun on
her heel and continued across the bridge, eyes downcast. She was aware
the instant he fell into step with her.
"So, where are we going?" he asked conversationally.
Blinded by tears, Buffy stumbled only to be caught up against Spike's
firm, lean body. Instinctively she began to struggle, but he held her
tightly and swung her into his arms. As he strode back the way they had
come, Buffy broke down completely, sobbing noisily. All the pain, guilt
and grief she had bottled inside her for months poured from her and she
clung to Spike. Pressing her face into his chest, she clutched
desperately at his shoulders, wanting, praying for everything to just end.
"That's it, luv; let it all out," he murmured in a gentler voice than
she had ever thought he could possess.
Gently Spike settled her in the passenger seat of his car, firmly
disentangling himself from her grasping hands. By the time he had gone
around to the driver's side, Buffy had curled into a little ball, her
face buried in her knees as she sobbed.
Turning the key in the ignition, Spike found his eyes wandering to her
huddled form. As the engine revved to life, he sat back and watched her,
wondering why he hadn't killed her. His line about her being pathetic
had been accurate, but since when had that stopped him? Most of his
victims sobbed for their lives.
Maybe it was because she hadn't been sobbing for her life. He had seen
mortals with death wishes before. Her's might be unspoken, but it was
there in her feeble attack and break down. The slayer wanted to die.
So, again the question, why was she still alive, sitting beside him in
his car?
That last night, the hesitant alliance they had made, the mutual desire
to rid the world of Angelus...had there been something else hidden in
their sarcastic, sniping hatred of each other?
He knew hate. What he was feeling was no where near it.
For the last several months his hatred had been reserved for his sire.
His only thoughts about the slayer had been rather automatic--that Angel
should just get on with it and kill her. He really hadn't cared whether
she lived or died; he just wanted something--anything--to take Angel's
attention away from Dru.
Thoughts of Drusilla brought too much pain and Spike shook himself from
his revery. "Where to, pet?"
Slowly Buffy looked up at him. Tears were still sliding down her wet
cheeks from her red eyes, but the hideous sobs had ceased. Rubbing her
hands over her tangled, damp hair, she mumbled her address and
directions to him. Spike pulled the car back into the minimal traffic
and headed north.
As Spike drove, Buffy began to pull her scattered thoughts together,
trying to understand what had brought her to this moment--sitting a foot
away from her worst enemy, letting him drive her home. And, why hadn't
he tried a little harder to kill her?
Why hadn't she tried a little harder to kill him?
Gently brushing the tears from her cheeks, Buffy glanced at him from the
corner of her eye, taking in his strong profile as he easily guided the
car with one hand, the other one propped in the open window. Why was he
being nice to her?
Their truce had been temporary, a necessary alliance to bring
down...Buffy's mind skittered and she swallowed hard, forcing the
rampant emotions back down inside her. For a month she had survived by
not thinking about him, not feeling anything about him but low level
ever present pain and guilt. She wondered why the bad emotions crept
through her barricades, but nothing good could escape. She had felt no
joy, no pleasure since leaving Sunnydale.
Spike's presence had freed something inside her that she didn't want to
feel. She could live without the joy if she never again felt the agony
of loss that had consumed her for those few minutes on the bridge.
Now, slowly, she was growing cold again, stamping out all hint of
emotion. Apparently, she would survive another night, but not if she
allowed herself to feel anything but residual emotions. Allowing herself
to truly feel would allow the grief to drive her mad.
Spike pulled up in front of her dingy trailer on a weed-filled lot and
stopped the car. "Hmm, this is certainly a downgrade in choice of
residences."
Buffy ignored him and slid from the car, walking up the gravel drive to
the door. She knew Spike was following her, but pretended he didn't
exist as she dug her key out of her bag and unlocked the door.
"Gonna invite me in, pet?"
Slowly Buffy turned to face her nemesis and found him grinning evilly at
her. She gave him a cool, controlled look. "I'm not that stupid."
"Oh, c'mon. Here we are the only vampire and the only slayer in this
dinky little town in Kansas, for Hell's sake. It'd get really dull if
one of us killed the other, don't you think?"
"We're mortal enemies, Spike. That's what mortal enemies do."
*****
Part 3
Spike just looked at Buffy until she finally sighed and shrugged her
shoulders. "Fine. I must have a death wish," she muttered.
Yeah, he'd agree with her on that one.
"Come on in, but if you try anything funny, you're staked."
"Oh, yeah, you're scary," he replied, following her into the tiny,
sparsely furnished trailer. He flopped down in an armchair that's
stuffing was spilling from various holes and crossed one leg over his
knee. "So, what are you doing in the middle of nowhere, Kansas?"
Buffy gave him a sharp look and dropped her bag on the kitchen table.
"Where's Drusilla?"
Spike frowned at her. "Okay, no tough questions. What should we chat
about?"
"So, what happened? She dump your sorry ass?" Buffy persisted.
"You really are looking for death, aren't you, Slayer?" he quipped in a
menacing voice.
Sighing, Buffy sat down in a kitchen chair and crossed her arms across
her chest. "Why are you here, Spike? In my trailer?"
"Because you invited me, luv."
Buffy rolled her eyes at the literalness of his answer and Spike began
to tap the fingers of one hand on the arm of the chair.
"Maybe because you're the first familiar thing in a thousand miles," he
said through gritted teeth. His voice gentled as he gazed at her frozen,
empty face. "Why are you here, Buffy?"
It was the first time he had ever spoken her name to her and something
opened inside her. She blinked at fresh tears. "I don't know," she
whispered. Wiping at her eyes, she got up and started past him. "I think
you better leave."
As she stumbled past, Spike caught her wrist and the next thing either
of them knew, she had tumbled onto his lap. Buffy squirmed in a mixture
of fear and embarrassment and their eyes met. Something in his eyes made
her stop trying to get up.
The hand that held her wrist loosened and began to caress her trembling
skin. Buffy's lips parted in a pant as she watched his eyes darken,
harden. Unbidden, her free hand touched his cheek. The firm, cool skin
was so familiar...
A low moan broke from her as her body came alive to the feeling of a man
holding her. Tingling sensations washed over her and the tears leaked
from her wide eyes. "I need..." she whispered.
"What do you need?" he answered in a husky voice, full of emotion he
hadn't expected to feel.
"I need...to be held."
Spike's arm wrapped around her waist and he pulled her closer until her
breasts pressed against his chest. He couldn't believe this was
happening. That he was growing aroused by holding the slayer!
But, he was. He wanted the young woman trembling in his arms. He had
always found her attractive, enjoyed her wit and sarcasm, admired her
sleek, lithe body, but...she was the slayer!
Trying to find a way out of this before they fell in too deep, he said,
"And none of a billion mortals in this world could hold you?"
Buffy shook her head. "They'd make me feel alive. I don't want to feel
alive." The hand on his cheek slid up into his hair. "Can you make me
feel death, Spike?" she whispered before covering his mouth with her's.
All rational thought fled Buffy's mind. His touch was so familiar. She
needed to feel that way again...the way *he* had made her feel, his cold
hands caressing her hot flesh, his cold cock deep inside her. He had
made her want to die...Maybe with Spike she finally would.
Stunned by the touch of her hungry mouth, Spike found himself
instinctively responding, his arms tightening around her. The word
'slayer' kept bouncing around his short- circuiting brain, but his body
was in control...for now, at least.
When she rose to her feet, still kissing him, he followed her and pulled
her against him. Buffy rose on her toes and wrapped her arms around his
neck, thrusting her tongue into his mouth with growing passion.
No longer thinking, driven by the heat spreading through her loins,
Buffy backed them down the hall towards her tiny bedroom and the double
bed it contained. A tiny part of her screamed at how wrong this was, but
her body, untouched for so many months, was on over-drive, throbbing,
hot, needing a man's touch.
And when that little part of her yelled that he wasn't a man, she
ruthlessly shut it up, digging her hands into Spike's shoulders and
tugging him down with her onto the bed.
The room was dark, but he could see her clearly as he lay propped over
her. She was panting and trembling, obviously hungry for his touch. As
he watched the emotions play across her face, knowing she couldn't see
the similar emotions on his, Spike's hands began to unbutton her shirt.
He wouldn't ask her if she was sure she wanted to do this. If she said
no, he wasn't sure he could stop.
At the feel of cold fingers sliding over the tops of her breasts, Buffy
moaned deep in her throat, pushing her pelvis up against his hardness.
She helped him pull his t- shirt over his head, then leaned up and began
to place light kisses on his smooth chest.
Groaning, Spike turned her, pulling the shirt down her arms and flinging
it over his shoulder as her hot lips touched his skin, sending sparks of
pleasure racing through him. How long had it been since a woman had made
him feel this way?
Gazing down at breasts encased in white lace, fuller and plumper than he
could have imagined, an airless pant broke from his lips. Sliding one
hand inside the cup, his fingers found her nipple, already hard. Buffy
jerked and whimpered, her nails digging into his back as she began to
nibble on one of his own nipples in lusty retaliation.
The front clasp of her bra easily opened for him and Spike feasted his
eyes on her pale, pink-tipped breasts. Bending his head, he sucked one
of her nipples into his mouth.
Electricity jolted through Buffy. Gripping his head, she held him to her
breast, moaning continuously. The pleasure was incredible--so long
forgotten--so hot and unbearable. Spike moved to her other breast and
she arched against him, eagerly offering herself.
As he tongued her nipples, one after the other, Spike's hands slipped
down further and ran over the crotch of her shorts. He could feel her
damp heat through the thick cotton. Nimble fingers untying the
drawstring, he began to pull the shorts down. Instinctively Buffy lifted
her hips and he pulled the article of clothing free.
Pulling back, Spike rose to his knees and looked down at her, trembling
on the bed. Her eyes were open, but glazed with desire, her fingers were
digging rhythmically into the bedding beneath her, her slender legs were
slightly parted. Leaning down, he pulled her sandals off, gently running
his fingers over the arches of her sensitive feet.
Buffy's feet jerked and she whimpered. When his cold tongue circled her
big toe, she nearly arched off the bed. "Oh God..." she moaned,
thrashing her head. The heat between her legs had become a throbbing
pressure and he was kissing her feet! "Please," she begged, not really
sure what she was asking for.
Grinning, Spike placed a kiss on her ankle, then ran his tongue up her
shin, knee and thigh. The muscles of her thigh jumped under his touch.
As his lips brushed her hip, his sensitive nose smelled the musky scent
of her arousal and he was oddly pleased that she wanted him so much.
Excruciatingly slowly, one of Spike's hands slid up her other thigh,
then slipped to the inside, then lightly ran across the crotch of her
white panties. Buffy arched against his hand, a shudder running through
her entire body. He began to peel the panties down, over her hips and
down her trembling legs, then off her feet.
If he could have breathed, his breath would have caught in his throat as
he took in the sight of the soft, brown hair between her thighs. She was
exquisite and incredibly sexy all at the same time.
Looking up, past her heaving breasts and panting lips, Spike caught her
eyes. They were wild and full of need. He could prolong this for hours,
but, as a very experienced man, he recognized that it had been a long
time for her--probably since that first and only time with Angel.
Dipping his head between her thighs, his mouth immediately found the
center of her pleasure and he began to kiss and tongue her.
Buffy's knees pinned his head between her legs as she pushed against his
mouth. "So cold, so cold, cold, cold..." she mumbled over and over as
the pleasure built. Her hands found her breasts, tweaking the tender,
hard nipples.
Spike had forgotten how different it was with a mortal. She was so hot
to his touch, nearly burning his tongue as he lapped at her femininity.
Her legs began a constant trembling and he knew she was near. Closing
his lips around her throbbing clitoris, he sucked hard.
Yelling, Buffy exploded, her fingers twisting her nipples, her legs
clenching his head, her body spasming. She flung her head back against
the pillow and thrust herself against his mouth, her cries dwindling to
moans.
Buffy whimpered as he pulled back and rose on shaky legs, but didn't
have the strength to bring him back to her. Quickly Spike kicked off his
shoes and yanked his jeans down his legs. Even with the endurance of a
vampire, he couldn't wait much longer.
As he slid back between her thighs, Buffy's shaking arms wrapped around
his shoulders, pulling him over her slick body. She moaned again as his
hard, cold chest scraped over her throbbing nipples and met his mouth in
a hungry, tongue thrusting kiss.
Feeling her legs wrapping around his hips, Spike slid his pulsing
erection against her wet cleft. Buffy whimpered and pressed herself
against him, sucking his tongue into her mouth.
As he thrust into her hot channel, she gasped, her eyes opening wide. It
felt so good. Like ice inside her burning body. Her hips met his thrust
and she tightened her legs around him.
Pulling her head back to pant through moist lips, she watched as Spike
flung his own head back, propping himself above her with his arms on
either side of her head. She began to run her nails over his chest,
eliciting a groan from him as she scraped his nipples.
In the gloom of the room, she watched the pleasure that crossed his
face, felt him speed up the thrusts, heard the slapping sound from flesh
hitting flesh as their pelvises met. The tension began to build again
inside her.
Groaning, unprepared for the quick, hot pleasure that slammed into her,
she grabbed his shoulders, concentrating on grinding her sensitive mound
against him. Putting his weight on one arm, Spike slid the other hand
down between their bodies and began to finger her clitoris.
She yelped at his touch and climaxed noisily, babbling to God and
clinging to him. Lowering his upper body to rest on her's, Spike gripped
her hips and slammed her up against him as his climax hit. He thrust
mindlessly, grunting in pleasurable agony as he emptied himself into her.
Finally, they both collapsed, him sprawled half on top of her, their
bodies still intimately joined.
As his mind slowly returned to normal, Spike glanced up at the slayer
with whom he had just shared an incredible sexual experience and found
her asleep, flushed and cutely tousled.
Grinning, tired himself, he levered himself off of her and flopped on
his back. Gently he pulled her into his arms and she curled around him,
snuffling her face into his chest. Trying not to wonder what the Hell
had just happened, Spike dozed off.
*****
Part 4
Buffy woke slowly, her eyelids fluttering, then shutting against the
hint of light blocked almost entirely by the thick curtains over the one
small window. She felt...strange. For a moment, her mind drifted away
again, then sensations began to enter her awareness.
Whatever she was lying on was cool and hard, yet strangely contoured.
There were unfamiliar twinges in her legs. She felt sticky with more
than perspiration...
Suddenly it all came back in a rush and her eyes flew open. Her head
rested on Spike's chest, one of her legs was draped across him, her knee
pressed lightly against...was that really...OH GOD!
Stifling her instinctive groan and trying not to wake him, she glanced
up. Spike's eyes were closed; he wasn't breathing. He looked dead.
The slayer in her yelled 'Find a stake. Do your duty.' Buffy ignored her
inner voice and carefully moved off of Spike. Sliding from her bed, she
grabbed for a t-shirt, yanking it over her naked body, determined not to
think about the events of the previous night.
Slipping from the room, she headed for the bathroom and a long, hot
shower. As the water pounded over her, washing away all physical
remnants of the night before, Buffy closed her eyes and scrubbed blindly.
Images began to pop into her mind. Mouths meeting in hungry kisses;
gentle hands caressing naked skin; cold flesh sliding over hot; his eyes
on hers as he thrust deep inside her.
Shuddering, Buffy turned the water off and grabbed a towel, roughly
drying herself, trying not to think. Her clean clothes sat unfolded in a
basket outside the bathroom door. During the heat of the day before she
hadn't had the energy to put them away. As she dug out a pair of
underwear and shorts to go with the t-shirt, she was glad she didn't
have to enter the bedroom just yet.
Dressed and brushing her wet hair she walked silently into the dark main
room of the trailer and turned on the window air-conditioner, keeping
the thick curtains tightly closed to keep out the heat. Letting the cold
air chill her hot skin, she began to think about what she was going to
do next.
*****
Late afternoon rolled in with no answers. Buffy had spent the day
reliving the events of the previous night, from their first meeting,
through their fight, through her emotional breakdown, through his
strange tenderness, to...the sex...the wild, passionate, wholly stupid sex.
The last thing she wanted to do was dwell on the sex. Flushed from the
erotic memories, it took her a few seconds to realize that someone was
knocking on her door. Shaking her head to try to clear it, Buffy rose
from the chair she had spent several hours in and winced as her muscles
groaned.
Opening the door she found her new friends carrying food and belatedly
remembered that she had invited them over for supper.
"Hey!" Janice exclaimed, brushing past Buffy carrying a grocery bag with
hot dogs and buns. "You look thrashed. Did we wake you?"
"Um, no. Come on in." Tad and Quinton slipped past her, carrying beer,
pop and chips. Shutting the heat outside, Buffy closed the door and
turned to her friends. "I kinda forgot I invited you."
"We can leave," Quinton began.
"No, no, I don't want you to leave. I just forgot and the place is a
mess..."
Janice gave her a cheerful grin and began to put the food in the fridge.
"Spotless as usual."
"You want to come clean our place? It's a dump," Tad said as he opened a
beer and flopped on the couch.
Quinton joined him. "Only because you've never lifted a finger to pick
up one thing."
Ignoring the boys' argument, Janice found two glasses and poured some
diet cola, then leaned against the counter, sipping hers. Buffy swirled
the drink around in the glass for a minute.
"Your mind is a million miles away. Really, Buffy, we can leave."
Buffy glanced up at Janice's sympathetic, friendly face and plastered on
a smile. "No. I want you to stay. It's just..."
"Well, well, you didn't tell me we were having company."
Buffy winced at the strong, masculine, cheerful, accented voice coming
from the direction of the bedroom.
"Hey man, I'm Tad, this is Quinton and Janice. We brought dinner."
"I can see you did," Spike said, grinning. Buffy spun and glared at him,
then set her glass down and hurried over to his side.
"You're up a little early," she said through clenched teeth as she took
a hold of Spike's arm. The son of a bitch was wearing only his jeans
with the top button undone. Silently she groaned, not wanting to face
the inevitable questions. "He's a night person," she tried to explain,
her fingers digging into Spike's arm.
"I'm Spike, an old friend of Buffy's."
"New in town?" Janice asked as she joined the group in the living room.
"Passing through. Ran into my dear old friend on the bridge last night."
Spike pried Buffy's fingers off his arm and slipped his other arm around
her waist, pinning her to his side.
Feeling a sudden influx of heat at his touch, Buffy silently cursed her
traitorous body and managed to keep herself from stomping on his bare
instep. Her eyes widened as Spike's hand slipped down, then patted her
on the bottom. "Go get me a beer, that's a luv."
Swallowing her desire to break the flimsy coffee table into handy
stakes, Buffy stomped into the kitchen and got a beer from the fridge.
Turning back to her friends, she found Spike lounging in the easy chair,
well away from the only sunlight which was coming through the kitchen
window, chatting about some sport with Tad and Quinton. This was not good.
Handing Spike the can, she retreated to the table where Janice was
sitting, gawking at Spike.
"Girlfriend," Janice hissed. "He's gorgeous."
"Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess." Buffy took a big gulp of her drink, hoping it
would cool her off--both her anger and her sudden lust.
"You guess? You really are blind, girl."
"Huh?" Buffy mumbled, confused.
"You haven't looked at a guy the whole summer. I figured you had a bad
breakup or something. Was it with him?"
Buffy gave her a look of horror at the thought, then turned red as it
hit her again just what she had done with her mortal enemy the night
before. She groaned and ran her hand over her face. "Oh crap, crap,
crap, crap, crap."
Janice patted her shoulder sympathetically. "Men do bring out that
emotion in women...I'm gonna ask this one more time. Do you want us to go?"
Buffy grabbed her arm, shaking her head and whispering. "God, no,
please. I don't know what the Hell I'm doing anymore. If you're here,
maybe I won't do something else totally insane."
"Buffy, dear, your friends want to know how we met."
Inwardly wincing at the playful tone in Spike's voice, Buffy turned her
head and replied sweetly. "He told me he was going to kill me so I
kicked his ass."
Spike chuckled, but she could see the ice in his eyes. "She's such a
kidder." He patted the wide arm of the chair he lounged in. "Come join
me, luv. I missed waking up in your arms."
Buffy's eyes shot daggers at him, but she took a seat on the arm of the
chair, if only to shut him up. But, Spike wasn't going to let it go at
that. He tugged her down onto his lap, forcing her arm around his neck.
"I'm gonna kill you," she hissed in his ear.
"Now, now, let's have dinner first," he teased.
Janice headed to the kitchen. "I'll get the hot dogs going. Buffy, where
are your pans?"
"In the cabinet next to the stove. I'll come help you."
"No, you stay there with your friend," Janice said with a grin.
Buffy felt herself blushing at the looks Janice was giving her and
squirmed a little on Spike's lap. He tightened his hold around her
waist. She blushed even more at the feel of something hard poking the
underside of her thigh.
"Stop that," Spike murmured into her ear before placing a kiss on the
sensitive spot just behind the lobe. As Buffy winced at the sudden surge
of lust between her legs, Spike cheerfully turned his attention back to
the two young men on the couch. "So, you just travel from town to town,
going with the flow, so to speak?"
"Yeah, man, Lawrence is pretty cool in the summer. Winter we try to go
someplace a little warmer. Gonna try New Mexico, check out Roswell and
all that other weird stuff this Fall," Quinton said smiling, taking sips
from his beer, apparently resigned to the fact that he wasn't going to
get anywhere with Buffy.
Spike nodded in understanding. "I used to do that, travel from place to
place. Thought I'd found a place to settle down, but things got a little
hot, so I'm on the road again. I have some family in New Orleans, so I'm
heading there...well, maybe with a layover here. Lawrence has certain
attractions." He leered at the girl sitting very still on his lap and
winked at the guys.
Buffy wanted to hit him very badly.
"How may hot dogs do people want?" Janice called from the kitchen.
People placed their orders and Tad went to set out dishes and cutlery on
the table.
Buffy turned her head and took a hold of Spike's chin as if she was
going to kiss him. "Do you want a hot dog, luv?" she asked sweetly.
"Only if it's real dog," he said quietly with a grin.
"Oh, no, pet, you gotta try one. They're made from animal byproducts,"
she teased, her eyes gleaming wickedly.
Spike frowned and his eyes narrowed. "There's only one animal byproduct
I want," he muttered, then kissed her hungrily to shut her up.
Buffy came up for air gasping and Spike grinned, taking a swig of beer.
Rolling her eyes, Buffy gave in and relaxed on his lap, hoping the
evening would get easier.
*****
Part five
The evening with Buffy's new friends went reasonably well. They all ate
hot dogs and chips--even Spike--and relaxed,chatting on a wide variety
of subjects.
After dinner Spike made sure that Buffy spent most of the rest of the
evening on his lap. Her mind protested, but her body was too willing.
She liked being held by him.
Buffy listened to him comparing and contrasting the differences between
punk rock of the seventies to modern music and found herself drowning in
his voice.
"Okay, what about the new swing movement?" Tad asked. "Can it really
compare to the real thing?"
Spike shook his head. "No. It's fun and great stuff to dance to, but
nothing beats the early swing music. Cole Porter, Glenn Miller--that was
great music, a great scene. I think it's just a case of one more thing
coming around again. Seems to be the way the world goes."
"Yeah, if we wait long enough, maybe your beloved punk will return,"
Buffy teased. Spike growled in her ear and she giggled.
"Well, although this discussion is fascinating, we better head out if we
want to make it back to the campground before full dark," Janice said,
diplomatically.
Buffy scrambled off Spike's lap to help Janice gather up the extra food.
"We'll leave you two alone to...talk," Janice whispered to Buffy with a
grin. Buffy glared at her friend and handed her the extra beer from the
fridge. "I can leave that for Spike, if you want."
"It's not his drink of choice."
Janice added the beer to her bag. "Have fun."
"Go away."
Janice, Tad and Quinton said their goodbyes and headed out. Buffy looked
at the sun setting in the west, then closed the door, slowly turning
back to Spike, who rose to his feet and slid his hands into his back
pockets. They stared at each other for a minute.
"Want to go back to bed?" Spike asked.
Lust hit her hard and she swallowed, blinking her eyes. "Yeah."
Spike held out his hand and Buffy took it, letting him lead her to her
bedroom. Once there, she turned on the fan, sending some air moving
around the stuffy room. Spike pulled her into his arms, running his
hands up her back under her t-shirt and then kissed her.
Helplessly caught in sudden desire, Buffy responded, sliding her fingers
into his short hair, her lips twisting hungrily against his as their
tongues met and caressed. Her hands moved down over his cool body and
slid around his waist. She had been sitting pressed against that cool
chest most of the evening...and she loved it. The feeling of chilled
skin next to her heated flesh aroused her and she wondered if a human
would ever make her feel the same way.
Spike lifted the t-shirt over her head, then resumed kissing her as he
pressed her hard-tipped breasts to his chest, smiling as she gasped and
squirmed against him. Slipping his hands into the waistband of her
shorts, he pulled them down, letting them fall to the floor. Buffy
stepped out of them, leaving her in a pair of white panties, but not for
long. They too joined the rest of her clothes in a pile on the floor.
Cupping her buttocks, Spike lifted her, pressing her against his
arousal. Buffy wrapped her legs around his hips and her arms around his
neck, clinging to them as their tongues dueled.
Although he could feel her wetness against his stomach, Spike tried to
urge her legs down, but she held on tightly. "Slayer," he murmured
between kisses. "Let go so I can touch you."
"Are touching me," she growled, biting his chin, then moving her mouth
down to suck on his throat.
"I can't exactly reach your breasts are any other important part of
you," he began to protest, then groaned as her teeth scraped across his
jugular.
"Don't care. Just do it."
Spike's eyes widened at the demanding tone of her voice, then he
shuddered as she sucked on his neck. The lust in his loins grew too
intense and he found himself moving them, nearly slamming her back
against the nearest wall. Pressing her there, he reached down and
managed to undohis jeans, freeing his throbbing erection. As his jeans
slid down his legs, his hands returned to her trembling bottom and
lifted her.
Their eyes met and held, then he thrust her down on his erection and
Buffy moaned, closing her eyes, writhing against him as waves of
pleasure crashed over her. Digging her nails into his shoulders, she
moved on Spike, thrusting with him, her heels drumming against his back.
Grunting in pleasure, Spike caught her lips again in a hungry kiss.
Buffy ground against him, her sweaty body sliding easily on the wall as
she rolled her head and keened in need.
As her inner muscles clamped around him Spike exploded in ecstasy,
filling her in hard thrusts. Shaking, he slipped from inside her and
kicked off his jeans before stumbling over to the bed with her still
clinging to him. Falling on his back, he sprawled Buffy on top of him.
She was panting and trembling from unfulfilled desire. Squirming, she
ground her pelvis against his leg and Spike grabbed her hips, tugging
her up his body.
Intent finally penetrated her swirling mind and Buffy scrambled over him
until she was kneeling over his head whimpering. Spike's hands caught
her buttocks and brought her down to his mouth.
She was hot and wet, nearly burning his tongue as he lathed her
clitoris, causing her to moan and jerk in his hands. As he moved her on
his mouth and the desire built deep inside her, Buffy twisted her
nipples in her hands, sending bolts of heat through her.
Suddenly his lips closed over her and Buffy yelled. The tight pleasure
broke, sending shock waves through her. Whimpering she ground down
against him until the tension was totally released, then toppled over to
the side of the bed in a boneless heap. Gently, Spike scooted farther up
the bed and lifted her into his arms, cradling her against his chest.
She was panting, her eyes closed, her body gleaming with perspiration
and trembling in satisfaction.
As she felt him caressing her arm, Buffy opened her eyes and looked up
at him. "We're insane," she whispered.
Spike grinned languidly. "Insanity can be fun, Slayer."
Wrapping her arm across his cold chest, Buffy pressed herself closer,
letting his lack of heat numb her sensitized body. They lay there
quietly for several minutes, then Spike carefully moved her away from
him and sat up.
"The sun's down."
"Uh huh."
"I need to feed, Slayer."
Buffy felt a different kind of chill sweep her and she curled herself
into a ball, not wanting to think about that or the undeniable fact that
she had just had passionate sex with a killer. Listening to him
dressing, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut.
"When I come back, we're going to talk."
She shook her head. She didn't want him to come back. She didn't want
him to go...
Spike crouched down in front of her, understanding her reaction probably
better than she did. Gently he touched her cheek and her eyes flew open.
"Slayer. You just fucked a killer. Get used to the idea."
Buffy's eyes blazed and she shot off the bed, grabbing her t-shirt off
the floor. "Bastard."
Spike chuckled. "But then, so did I." He headed for the bedroom door and
Buffy spun around as she tugged the t-shirt over her head.
"If you come back, I'll have a stake waiting," she promised.
He threw his answer over his shoulder. "No you won't." Spike left the
room and Buffy slumped onto the bed, her shoulders hunching her over.
"Please don't kill," she whispered, knowing it was futile. Knowing she
would let him back in that door and probably back into her bed. She
needed him too much...and needed to understand why. She didn't think it
really had much to do with Spike personally, although she had always
enjoyed their banter and his intelligence. If a person had to have a
mortal enemy, he was a pretty good one to have.
Buffy sat on her bed, stunned. Spike had gone to feed...to kill a human
being. How could she have let herself ignore that fundamental part of him?
Fury swept through her and Buffy stormed into the bathroom, stripping
the t-shirt over her head. Turning on the cold water, she stepped into
the shower and yelled in shock as the water hit her. As her body
adjusted to the temperature, she grabbed soap and a washcloth and began
to scrub her body, trying to rid herself of Spike's touch.
This was becoming a bad habit. She craved his touch...but when reality
returned...he was a vampire, a demon, a killer. He was out there
killing...and she had given herself to him eagerly...joyfully. The lips
that had kissed her with such tender hunger were now satiating another
hunger.
He was killing. She should have stopped him. Why hadn't she stopped him?
Screaming into the spray of cold water, Buffy rubbed the sponge over her
breasts, digging deeply into skin that had so recently flushed at a
demon's touch.
Buffy's skin reddened from the cold water and her hard scrubbing, but
she kept going, washing from head to toe, desperate to erase his touch
from her skin.
It didn't help. She had turned her back on everything, betrayed everyone
she loved and everything she believed in--family, friends, her home, her
duty...She had learned to live with that. Existing from day to day, not
thinking, not remembering.
And then he had dropped into her life, forcing her to remember, forcing
her to feel. Emotions buried for two months were swelling inside her,
driving her insane...and memories...
Screaming, "NO," she squeezed her eyes shut against the images of her
greatest betrayal. Shivering at the cold, Buffy continued to scrub her
aching body, wishing, praying that the scourging of her flesh would help
cleanse her soul.
Finally, gasping for breath, Buffy turned off the water and staggered
from the shower. Staring into the mirror over the sink, she saw a
wild-eyed stranger. A stranger who had let a demon fuck her, not once,
but twice. A stranger who had reveled in the pleasure that demon gave
her. For two months, this stranger had been the only reflection Buffy
had seen.
The icy, hard woman in the mirror was not a Buffy Summers any one from
her past would recognize. Physically she was the same...but on the
inside...She was whatever that Buffy Summers had evolved into...a shell
of the seventeen year old girl from Sunnydale. This woman was a
survivor. She could exist by ignoring the past, the memories, the emotions.
Except...that when Spike touched her...instead of bringing her closer to
death...he brought her to life. During sex she could exist in the
present, but as soon as her body calmed, long dormant emotions
threatened to escape. Against her will, Spike was making her feel...and
she hated it. The icy woman in the mirror was beginning to melt...
Fear swamped her. Fear of buried emotions. Fear of this strange need she
had for a demon. Fear of her memories. The woman in the mirror was
shaking, shattering.
Buffy couldn't bear to watch her destruction. Screaming, she brought her
doubled fists crashing into the mirror.
*****
When Spike returned to the trailer an hour later, the first thing that
hit him was not a frying pan or a stake, as he half expected, but the
smell of blood. A bolt of fear went through him as he hurried through
the trailer. He didn't want to think about the possibilities.
Relief flooded him when he found the Slayer on her knees in the
bathroom, pressing a towel to the bleeding side of one hand. A glance
showed him that there was broken glass from the mirror all over the
counter and floor.
Sensing his presence, Buffy looked up with dull, empty eyes, and rose to
her feet, completely unconscious of her nudity. Spike's eyes narrowed as
he saw the ugly red marks on her body. She had scrubbed herself nearly
raw in places. Idly, he wondered if she believed she had succeeded in
wiping away his touch.
Why did he understand her need to cleanse? Shouldn't he feel pissed that
she had felt this need? As Buffy took a step towards him, Spike saw that
she was about to walk uncaring on the shards of glass. Shrugging off his
questions, he swept her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom.
Laying her on the bed, he shrugged out of his jacket, then sat down next
to her. Carefully he picked up her wounded hand, unwrapping the towel to
examine the cut. "It's already healing," he murmured, then rewrapped it
in the clean part of the towel. "How'd this happen?"
Buffy rolled her head away from him. Ever since she had broken the
mirror, she felt as if she was moving in slow motion. Her body, her
mind, all plugging along at a snail's pace. Now, his presence had caused
everything to speed up again. Now she had to surrender the comforting
numbness that surrounded her. Now, she had to deal with the enormity of
the events of the past twenty-four hours.
But, she didn't want to. Denial was not just a river.
As Spike touched her hand, Buffy's body quivered anew with desire.
Somewhere inside her, she wondered why she would want him after trying
so desperately to rid herself of any reminder of his touch, but, she was
in control enough to realize that she was out of control. She just
didn't care anymore. For two months she had repressed all her emotions
until she could forget they had ever existed.
His presence in her life had reawakened those emotions past the point
where she could deal with them. They were burying her. Love, hate,
passion, joy, fear, all were combining to send her flying further out of
control of her life. So, she clung to the one thing that made
sense...even if the thing she was clinging to was the creature who had
set the emotions free.
For a few moments, he could make her forget. He could make her feel
physical pleasure to the point her soul would stop screaming. She needed
the emotions to go away!
Spike nearly fell over as the Slayer scrambled onto his lap, wrapping
her arms and legs around him, clinging like a leech. Her mouth attacked
his and he responded, helpless against her sudden, surprising desire.
"Fuck me," Buffy began to babble between passionate kisses. "Just fuck me."
Spike's eyes narrowed and he pulled back from her. This sudden change in
attitude was very suspicious. Did she really want him to fuck her or did
she want to fall further into denial? After their first time together,
neither had wanted to face the consequences. Now...now it was time. He
just had to make her understand that. And to do that, he had to get her
off his lap before his body took over and told his mind to fuck off.
Buffy latched her mouth onto his throat, nibbling and sucking the
sensitive skin until Spike groaned in a combination of lust and regret.
This was going to be hard. It took all of his willpower to peel her off
of him. "No."
Buffy gave him a wounded look and Spike intercepted her hand going for
his crotch, then jumped off the bed.
"Get dressed, slayer. We're going to talk."
Buffy pouted, her mind whirling in a desperate attempt to blanket the
emotions raging within her body which trembled with desire. Pouting was
going to get her nowhere after one hundred and fifty years of experience
with Drusilla's many moods. Spike spun around and left the room,
ignoring the Slayer's cry of outrage.
"Come back here, Spike." Buffy couldn't believe he was leaving her. He
was a vampire, for God's sake. They'd fuck anything.
Cold anger flooded her. She didn't want to talk. Hadn't she been proving
that? Shaking with unfulfilled desire and anger, Buffy rose from the bed
and pulled on a t-shirt, kicking the rest of her clothes out of the way
and throwing the no longer necessary towel across the room. Almost
reveling in the anger--on the theory that, if she had to feel anything,
anger was something that she had a chance of dealing with--Buffy stormed
out of the room after him.
Spike sat in the easy chair, brooding. The sight of him, lips tight,
eyes narrowed, sent a shiver of remembrance through her. It was too
familiar...too painful. Wrapping her arms around her suddenly trembling
body, Buffy sank onto the couch, her mind whirling with unwanted images
of another vampire brooding.
Silence reigned for several minutes, the only sound her rapidly
increasing breathing as she fought against the tide of emotions rising
in her. She didn't want to feel. She didn't want to feel anything. It
was the only way she survived.
"It helps me not think," Buffy murmured, almost to herself. "I can't
think, won't think." Her eyes flashed wildly around the room before
finding her lap. Drawing her legs up to her chest, she wrapped her arms
around them and buried her face, rocking slightly.
Spike watched the Slayer retreating and knew he had to stop it. She was
manic...and it really bothered him.
"Why are you here?" he asked softly.
"Running, always running, have to run," Buffy chanted against her knees.
"But you've stopped."
Looking up at him, Buffy felt a sense of desolation hit her. Why had she
stopped? At first, she hadn't had any money, but now...She began to
shake her head.
Not getting an answer, Spike tried another question. "What are you
running from, Buffy?"
Buffy was silent for another moment, the question racing around her
brain. Taking a deep, ragged breath, she tried to ignore the emotions
just below the surface, boiling. Anger. She had felt anger tonight for
the first time in two months. She had liked it. The sight of him
brooding had driven it away. She needed it back. It doused the other
emotions...the ones which terrified her.
"Go away, Spike," she whispered harshly, nearly begging. If he went
away, she could forget. She could curl up in a ball and stop thinking,
stop feeling, stop hurting. If he wouldn't make her angry, she needed
him to leave. She would not allow herself to feel anything else.
"If I go away...how long do you think you'll survive?"
Buffy gave him a harsh laugh that echoed with everything but humor. "All
I do is survive, Spike."
"Physically, yeah. This evening, slayer, you forgot. You forgot whatever
it was that drove you from Sunnyhell to here. You forgot to feel pain
and let yourself feel joy...with your friends and in bed with me."
Suddenly furious again, Buffy screamed at him, "GO TO HELL."
"I'm not the one in Hell, luv. HE is."
Just like that, the fury vanished. Buffy began to shake her head,
rocking on the couch. "No, I won't think about this. Just go away, go to
New Orleans. Please..."
"You're pathetic, slayer. So pathetic that it's actually frightening."
"Fuck you."
Spike replied in a cheerful tone, "You already did that, luv."
Buffy's eyes snapped up, full of the anger that roared through her body.
A part of her wondered, how many times she could go from fury to
despair. Her mind felt like it was being twisted inside out and her
heart and soul ached.
"There's only one answer, slayer. I knew it five minutes after I fled
the mansion and the world was still around. He pulled the sword...there
was only one way to stop Acathla."
"Shut up," Buffy yelled through clenched teeth. "Get out of my house.
Leave me alone." She would not think about this. She would not. She
would not. Deny the memories, deny the emotions...she had to or she
would go insane.
"You sent Angelus to Hell. Good for you, luv."
Anguish roared through her. The images assaulted her. Desperately
struggling to deny them, Buffy focused on her anger. Looking up again,
she gave Spike a nasty look, delighting in the renewed fury. If he was
going to make her hurt, he was going to feel the same pain.
"Where's Drusilla, Spike? Where's your black goddess? Did she leave you
because you betrayed her? Did she run back to Sunnydale to find
something you obviously couldn't give her? Maybe she let herself burn in
the sun just so she could be with HIM."
Spike glared back at her, digging his fingers into the arms of the chair
as anger surged through him. He managed to keep his voice even. "So, the
bitch is back."
Swallowing hard, Buffy uncurled herself from the couch and rose to her
feet. "Isn't that what you wanted? You couldn't kill the ice cold
stranger I've become or the weeping, sobbing twit or the pathetic slut
so desperate to be held, to feel the touch of a man, she'd sleep with
her mortal enemy. But, you can kill the bitch."
His eyes never leaving the now aggressive Slayer, Spike slowly rose to
his feet. He could almost see the fury vibrating from her. The ice
queen, the weeper, the slut, the bitch...they were all aspects of the
Slayer. He needed her to deal with her ragged emotions, with the past,
with her reasons for running. He needed her to make herself whole
again...and deep inside himself, he knew why.
If Spike could help the Slayer become whole, show her how to learn to
live without Angelus and with what she did...he could learn to live
without Drusilla. Maybe then the hole inside him could be filled and he
could feel something other than the constant sorrow he hid so very well.
Buffy wasn't the only one in denial. Spike was simply more experienced
at hiding it.
"I don't want you dead," he said softly.
Buffy gave him a disbelieving look. "I thought that would be your
greatest joy."
"So did I, Buffy, so did I."
*****
Standing toe to toe, the Slayer and the demon stared into each others
eyes, suddenly silent.
Spike didn't want her dead. His words kept revolving in Buffy's weary,
amazed mind. Her mortal enemy couldn't kill her, didn't want to kill her.
The Slayer was standing before him, her psyche, for the moment, whole.
With a swipe of his claws he could slice her open, with a twist of his
fingers, he could snap her neck.
Yet, he didn't want her dead. Spike stared into the blue eyes and
realized he wanted her to stay like this. He needed her to stay whole
and sane...so he could do the same.
Gently Spike touched her shoulder and watched her eyes widen. "Do you
want me to kill you, Buffy? Really, truly?"
Buffy swallowed hard and shook her head. "I don't want to die," she
choked out, her arms sliding around her body to hug herself. "I just
don't know how to live anymore."
"Why?"
Why...That was all it took, all it took to tear her apart, to make her
explode. The question at the root of everything. Why didn't she know how
to live anymore. The answer was there, buried so deep inside her. One
word, one name, one love, one life.
Why. That simple question brought the emotions to the fore. Pain,
longing, sorrow, fear, hatred, anger, they all swamped her and Buffy
stood still, staring into Spike's dark eyes, knowing he was touching
her, but not feeling him. She began to swallow hard, her eyes widening
farther as the emotions swirled and pulled at her.
Opening her mouth, she tried to scream, then closed it again, no sound
emerging.
Watching her very expressive eyes, realizing what was happening inside
her, Spike kneaded her shoulder gently. "Let it out, luv. You have to
let it out."
Before his eyes, Buffy turned white and flinched from his touch, horror
twisting her face. He knew her reaction wasn't towards him, but wondered
at the pang of hurt her rejection had caused.
Suddenly--surprising both of them--Buffy screamed and what she screamed
was a name. "Angel."
She screamed until her throat was raw, her chest heaving, her sides sore
from sobbing. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she whimpered the name
again before collapsing at Spike's feet.
Scooping the sobbing girl into his arms, Spike carried her to the couch
and sat, cradling her as she cried.
After what seemed like an eternity to her, Buffy felt herself regaining
control. The emotions she had bottled up inside her had finally
exploded, but they hadn't destroyed her, as she had feared they might.
She was at a crossroads. She could either bottle the emotions back up,
waiting for them to explode again, or she could face them, face what she
had done and try to deal with it.
Neither option was very attractive, but Buffy was tired of not feeling,
not caring, tired of a whole bunch of things.
Shifting awkwardly on Spike's lap, she rested her head on his shoulder
and sighed. "You asked me why I stopped running," she began, her voice
hoarse from screaming. "I was tired of running. Running kept my emotions
alive. Once I stopped, I could force them down, concentrate on keeping
myself physically alive. I know, that sounds strange. Most people run to
keep from facing anything. I stopped. It was easier not to run anymore,
just to settle."
Her voice drifted away and Spike glanced down to watch the tears leak
slowly from her reddened eyes. She was hauntingly beautiful.
Shaking himself from his strange reverie, Spike asked a question which
had been bothering him for some time. "Why did you run in the first
place?" He almost expected her to shut down again, but all Buffy did was
look at him with such pain in her eyes...that he knew. In that instant
he understood.
"You were prepared to kill Angelus," he murmured, almost to himself.
"You could have done that, to save the world, to save your mum and
friends. But, it wasn't Angelus you sent to Hell...was it?"
One fresh tear slid from her eye, down over her nose to drip onto her
chin. "Angel," was all she could manage to say, before she closed her
eyes and began to weep, quietly this time, clinging to him like a child
to its mother.
Spike's mind reeled. How was that possible? How had Angel returned? How
had his soul been returned? She had sent Angel to Hell to save the
world. Soulboy. Her one great love.
No wonder she was such a wreck. Spike knew instantly that he couldn't
have done that to Drusilla. Just knocking her out had wracked him with
guilt for weeks.
Glancing down at Buffy, he realized she had slipped into sleep. Forcing
the dark thoughts of Drusilla from his mind, refusing to acknowledge
that he had issues as well, Spike rose to his feet and carried the
sleeping Slayer into her bedroom. Laying her on the bed, he covered her
up, then returned to the outer room to pace and think.
*****
Sometime before dawn, Buffy awakened, her head pounding, her mouth
tasting like sawdust, her eyes sore. As she blinked into the gloom of
her room, her memories returned and she lay still, waiting for the
overwhelming need to repress to overcome her.
Nothing happened. As she remembered screaming Angel's name, a pang of
pain went through her, but she found she could handle it. As she
remembered their last kiss, sorrow flooded her, but she didn't try to
bury it.
But with the sorrow came grief, and she buried her face in her pillow,
crying again, for the first time crying for her loss. All these months,
she hadn't allowed herself to grieve.
In the outer room, Spike heard her soft sobs and felt torn between
letting her cry and going to her. Finally, the strange connection he
felt towards her drew him to her room. Sitting down on the bed next to
her, he turned on the lamp and watched her shoulders shake.
"Luv?" he asked hesitantly.
Swiping the tears from her eyes and hiccupping, Buffy sat up and crawled
into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. Spike knew instantly it
was for comfort, not desire. Gently, he hugged her to him, drawing her
head onto his shoulder.
"I killed him," she said dully. "I sent him to Hell. I had the sword, he
was on his knees, I was ready to plunge it through him, when...when his
soul returned. He looked up at me with such pain and confusion in his
eyes and he said my name....And I knew. I knew it was my Angel back."
Gently Spike stroked her back, listening to her finally speak the
cathartic words of truth.
"We embraced like we hadn't touched for decades and...we kissed. I can
still feel his lips on mine. I can still hear him saying he loves me.
But, I watched the portal opening behind him and knew I had no choice.
He knew nothing. He remembered nothing after that night, the only night
we had together...and I didn't have time to tell him." She sobbed once,
deeply, her whole body shuddering.
"Go on," he encouraged softly.
Buffy took a deep breath and continued, forcing the words through teeth
that wanted to clench shut and hold the damning truth back. "I told him
to close his eyes. I kissed him one last time. And I thrust the sword
into him, pinning him to that damn statue. The look of pain, of fear,
of...betrayal on his face...I'll go to my grave remembering it." Her
voice died away and she buried her hot face in his cool neck.
Spike stroked her back and shoulders, feeling her body finally relaxing
after months of tension and suppressed emotions. Finally looking down,
he saw that she was asleep again, a look of almost peace on her thin
face. Gently laying her down, he glanced towards the window and felt the
rising sun's pull on his own body.
Pulling his boots and belt off, Spike slid under the covers next to the
Slayer and closed his eyes. He knew the gentlemanly thing to do would be
to sleep in the bathtub.
But, no one had ever accused him of being a gentleman.
In her sleep, the Slayer curled trustingly against him and Spike smiled,
wrapping his arm around her waist as he rolled onto his side and drifted
to sleep.
*****
Buffy dreamed. She stood on a beach, the warm sun bathing her as she
looked at the ocean, at the waves gently lapping the sand at her feet,
at the whitecaps farther out. She wrapped her arms around her waist and
closed her eyes, smelling the salt in the air, hearing the sound of
gulls, the faint laughter of children.
A shadow fell across her path. Two strong, firm arms wrapped around her
waist, pulling her back against a muscular chest.
She sighed, smiling, content in her lover's arms, knowing that she was
safe and nothing would harm her there.
"I love you, Buffy," he whispered, his breath in her ear sending a
shiver through her, the warmth of his embrace making her stomach tighten.
Slowly she turned in his arms, pillowing her head on his linen covered
chest, wrapping her arms around his waist, her fingers kneading his
back. "Oh, Angel," she murmured, placing a kiss on his chest.
She could hear his heart beating, feel it thudding quickly beneath her
cheek and she smiled.
Suddenly the sun disappeared and night fell. A cold wind blew across the
beach, making her shiver and clutch her lover tighter. She looked up,
puzzled, and couldn't see his face. "Angel?" No breath touched her. No
heartbeat sounded save her own.
"Angel's dead," a voice rang in her ears. "He's in Hell, rotting."
She whimpered and squinted into the darkness. "Where'd the sun go?" she
begged, helplessly.
The darkness before her cleared and she looked up into Spike's face.
"Vampires can't survive in the sun, luv." His arms tightened around her,
his hands cupping her bottom to lift her against him.
"Spike," she said softly, acknowledging him, his presence in her arms.
"Does this mean you're Angel's replacement?"
He grinned and swooped down for a kiss. "Well, can't rightly kill you
after all the lovely shagging."
For a split second she was outraged, then she laughed and returned his
kiss. Finally, panting for breath, she pulled back and smiled up at him.
"Thank you for setting me free."
"Any time, Slayer, any time."
~~~~~
Buffy woke with a start, her dream still bouncing around her brain.
Groaning at the burning in her eyes, the muted pounding in her head, she
struggled to sit up, then glanced down at the male body she had been
sprawled across.
When had he slipped into bed with her?
Frowning and rubbing her temples, Buffy glanced at the clock and winced
at the time. Two fifteen in the afternoon. Since work started at six in
the morning...Shit.
Groaning again, she slipped from the bed onto shaky legs and found a
pair of shorts on the floor. Slipping them on and tucking her t-shirt in
loosely, she grabbed her sandals and slipped out to call work.
*****
Twenty minutes, one apologetic phone call and two tylenol later, Buffy
sat on the couch, staring across the room. Her headache was fading as
she worked her way through the memories of the night before and the
remaining images of the dream.
She had begun to make her peace with what she had done. She had finally
let Angel go. Angel. Thinking his name no longer sent shards of pain or
bolts of panic screaming through her.
Just sorrow. A deep sorrow. But she could live with it.
Spike had shown her the way. He had forced her to confront the truth of
what she had done and confrontation could only lead to acceptance and
then to healing. It was still going to take time and she might never
fully forgive herself and she'd certainly never forget, but she had made
the turn.
Maybe it was time to make another turn...towards home.
Buffy's stomach growled and she realized that she was truly hungry for
the first time in a long time. Going to the kitchen she made herself a
sandwich and found an apple that only had a few bad spots in it.
*****
At sundown, Buffy set down last month's Cosmo and glanced down the hall.
A few moments later her bedroom door opened and Spike shuffled out,
yawning.
"There you are, Slayer," he said grumpily.
Buffy stifled a giggle. "Not everyone wants to sleep the day away."
"Aren't we the cheerful one," he replied sourly, slumping down next to
her on the couch and yawning again.
Slightly amazed, Buffy realized he was right. She did feel
rather...well, if not cheerful, at least not too sad. "I feel okay," she
admitted, a hint of a smile crossing her lips.
"You must have had one great dream," he growled crossly. "I woke up once
to find you squeezing me to death."
She couldn't help it. She had to giggle and the giggle turned into full
fledged laughter. "You're already dead, silly."
Spike stared at her, then shook his head. "You've gone insane, haven't
you? Well, nothing to fear. I know how to deal with insane females. A
good shag now and then..."
"What did you say?" Buffy interrupted.
"Huh? A good shag?"
"That's what you said in my dream." Her eyes narrowed. "I wonder just
how much was really a dream..."
"Going psychic on me?" He winced at the thought.
"Well, I do have these prophetic dreams." Slowly, she described her
dream, struggling to remember details and trying to analyze what they
meant. "And day turned to night and Angel turned into you."
"Did we fight?"
Buffy shook her head. "No...I said something like...'are you his
replacement' and you said something about 'not being able to kill me
after shagging me'." She blushed at the implications of the word. "Then
we kissed."
"Okay. Interesting." Spike's brow furrowed and he looked at her, at the
calmness and peace he could see in her face and body language. "What
about the voice that said he was in Hell?"
A frown crossed her face and she dropped her eyes. "It wasn't you. I
think...I think it was a part of me trying to drag me back to the way
I've been...to the safety of not having to deal with what I did," she
answered slowly, in a small voice. "It was trying to shock me back into
my stupor."
"And I set you free?"
Smiling, Buffy nodded.
Disturbed, Spike rose and began to pace. "What if I don't want that kind
of responsibility? What if I don't want to be Angel's replacement? And
what the fuck does that mean anyway? In your bed, in guarding you,
protecting your back, saving you from big, bad vampires? I am a big, bad
vampire, remember?"
A flash of anger shot through her. "Hey, you're assuming a Hell of a lot
here, mister. I may not WANT you in my bed or protecting my back."
Spike stopped pacing and stared at her, then snorted in disbelief.
"Yeah, right."
Rolling her eyes, Buffy replied under her breath, "Ego much?"
"I have my own problems, luv."
"Yeah, like, where's Drusilla?"
At her pointed question, Spike glowered at her, then stormed out of the
trailer, letting the door bang shut behind him.
"Oops."
Fully unrepentant, Buffy began to whistle the tune to "Bitch" and headed
for the bathroom and a relaxing shower and pampering session.
He'd be back. She just had this feeling...
*****
A few hours later, Buffy sat on the couch wearing a tank top and a pair
of shorts, giving herself a manicure. As she tsked over the sorry state
of her fingernails, the door opened. Looking up she watched as Spike
slunk into the trailer, his eyes looking everywhere but at her.
"Hi," she said cheerfully, tossing the emery board onto the side table.
He mumbled something unintelligible and shuffled over to the easy chair.
Flopping down in it, he dug into his breast pocket for a fresh pack of
cigarettes and a lighter, still not looking at her. As he lit one and
took a deep drag, he leaned his head back to stare at the grungy ceiling.
"Spike...Spiiike," she cajoled, still slightly amazed at how good she
felt. "Oh, Spikey."
"Don't call me that," he growled.
"Ooh yeah, you're the big, bad vampire."
Spike's eyes finally fell on her, full of disbelief. "What happened to
mopey girl?"
"You fucked her into submission."
Spike gaped until the cigarette burned his finger and he stubbed it out
in an empty pop can, blowing on his injured digit. "Are you sure you
didn't go nuts?"
Buffy smiled and drew her legs up underneath her. "Not nuts, just on the
road to recovery, thanks to you forcing me to confront what I did...what
happened to Angel," she said softly.
He gave her a skeptical look. "I don't know, Slayer. You seem to be TOO
cheerful now."
Buffy thought about it for a moment, then shook her head slowly. "Not
too cheerful. It's just...I've been dead inside for so long that I may
be overcompensating," she struggled to explain.
"Well then," he began, then fumbled for another cigarette, finally
getting one lit. "I guess you don't need me anymore."
Buffy stared at him, her eyes narrowing as she tried to find a hint of
emotion in his expressionless face, his empty eyes.
"Mortal enemies and all that," he finally continued, taking another deep
drag on the cigarette.
"Yeah...mortal enemies," she replied slowly. "You know, I'm not really
sure that's true anymore. I just don't want to kill you." Buffy flashed
him a quirky smile.
Spike growled and his lips twisted. "Girl, we are so much safer being
mortal enemies than whatever the fuck we've been the last few days."
She nodded, knowing it was true. "Right. You're right. I know that.
You're a vampire, a vampire without a soul, bloodthirsty, killer,
etcetera. I'm a slayer. I slay vampires. Sacred duty and all that."
"See? We can never be friends. We can never be lovers," Spike answered
flatly.
"A little late for that," Buffy muttered.
He glowered at her and put out his cigarette before jumping to his feet
to pace again. "I'm not a replacement for Angel. I can't be. I refuse to
be. I've been there, done that, and been fucked royally for trying."
Watching him pace, Buffy wondered at the bitterness in his voice and
finally opened her mouth. "Drusilla?"
He turned on her, standing over her and glaring. "You were right. She's
a big ho. Her precious Angelus came back and she was all over him like a
bitch in heat. They pretended nothing was happening as if I couldn't
hear them going at it all day in the room above my fucking head. Daddy
was back and all he had to do was look at her and she was leaping for
his cock." He sneered, his arms flailing as he ranted. "Stupid bitch. I
gave her everything she ever wanted. I worshiped the fucking ground she
fucking walked upon and she dumped me for a big wanker with a hair gel
fixation!"
Buffy felt a flash of pain at the truth of Angel's relationship with
Drusilla, and all the cheer in her fled, but she kept her mouth shut
about that and let him rant. She understood that he needed release too.
"Where is she now?" she asked quietly.
"Hell if I know," Spike growled, pacing again. "I took her north, to
Canada, just as I promised you. She didn't speak to me for two weeks.
Then...then everything seemed okay. For nearly a month I thought we were
happy. We were building a little coven. I'd bought her new dolls and all
the pretty dresses she could want. And the sex...oh shit, the sex was
fantastic. It had been so long since Prague." His voice took on a dreamy
quality as he remembered.
Running his fingers through his hair in agitation, Spike flopped down on
the couch next to Buffy and stared at the ceiling. "Then one evening I
woke up to find her driving stakes into my hands and feet, pinning me to
the floor, crucifying me for Christ's sake." He snorted in disgust. "She
giggled the whole time, giggled like the nutter she is."
Buffy turned to look at him, watching the anger and pain flow across his
face as he stared straight ahead.
"She stood there, looking at me, giggling, and said that I had been a
naughty boy and she had better things to do than hang around with a
naughty boy," he forced out through clenched teeth. "Then she kicked me
in the nuts and stormed out."
After a few moments of silence, Buffy ventured a question. "Do you know
where she went?"
"I've been following a trail of corpses and fledglings. She always did
pick the oddest people to turn," he mused, then continued in a harder
voice. "Stupid bitch."
"She didn't come through here. I think I would have noticed."
"No, she headed on down I-70 to Kansas City, after wasting about half of
some fanatical church in Topeka" His voice took on an admiring tone.
"Oh, it was a lovely sight. Half the dead flock had gay bashing signs
sticking out of various orifices. Pure poetry." At Buffy's clearing her
throat, Spike shook himself and continued. "I felt drawn here...and I
was hungry, so I stopped." Spike shrugged. "I think she's heading to New
Orleans. One of her favorite proteges is the mistress of the master of
the French Quarter."
"Why do you want her back?" Buffy just had to ask. "She IS a big ho,
Spike. She's probably fucking some other vampire as we speak."
Spike growled half-heartedly, then sighed and buried his face in his
hands for a moment, rubbing at his sore eyes. "Love...love is insane and
it'll drive you insane if you let it."
"Love makes you do the wacky," Buffy murmured in understanding.
Spike sighed again. "I need a good stiff drink." Rising to his feet, he
reached for Buffy and pulled her up with him. "There's a bar down the
street. Let's go get plastered."
"Um, I'm just sort of underage here."
He ran his eyes over her slender body and grinned lasciviously. "Uh huh.
Go put your shoes on. I'm buying."
"And I don't drink," Buffy added feebly as she hurried to her bedroom
for her shoes.
*****
The bar was nearly empty for a Monday night and they found a quiet table
at the back. As Spike went to get a couple of beers, he tossed some
change to Buffy and told her to go put some music on the jukebox. She
was still reading the song titles when he strolled back across the smoky
room.
"I've never heard of most of these bands. The Marshall Tucker Band?
Jethro Tull? Bungle in the Jungle? What kind of song name is that? The
Band? Oh, that's original. What, are these country groups?"
Sighing, Spike took the change from her, inserted it in the machine and
pushed a few buttons, then tried to tug her away from the jukebox.
"Oh, jeez, my dad listens to these guys. Lynyrd Skynyrd. He plays air
guitar when he thinks I'm not watching."
"Free Bird is a classic," Spike muttered as they reached the table and
the song began to play.
"Yeah, this is the one. When I was in junior high, my girlfriends and I
used to watch professional wrestling and some wrestler used this as his
theme song. He was old."
Closing his eyes briefly, Spike shoved a beer at her and slumped into a
chair. "Drink, now."
Smiling at her success in teasing him out of his anger at Drusilla and
into being frustrated at her, Buffy took a sip of her beer. "Better than
Billy Idol I guess," she said innocently.
Spike's eyes narrowed and he growled across his beer bottle before
downing half its contents. "You trying to piss me off, Slayer?"
"Am I succeeding?" she asked lightly.
"You ever see the movie 'Near Dark'?"
"No."
He grinned evilly at her. "There's a lovely scene in a bar full of
vampires. Blood and death everywhere. I tried draining a guy into a beer
mug once. It's a lot harder than it looks, but not impossible."
Buffy frowned at him and took a healthy swallow. "Just try it, peroxide
boy."
Spike chuckled and finished his beer. "I think some tequila is in order
here." Taking his empty bottle, he headed back to the bar.
As she sipped her beer, Buffy watched him swagger from the table, her
eyes fixed on his hard ass. As heat surged through her, she fanned
herself with her hand and took another big swallow, grinning.
Returning with a bottle of tequila and two glasses, Spike straddled the
chair and poured them each a shot. Buffy eyed hers warily. "Are there
worm bits in this?"
"In this cheap shit?" He downed his shot.
Hesitantly Buffy swallowed hers, then coughed and choked at the strong
taste. Spike hit her on the back a couple of times, laughing.
"You'll get used to it."
Gasping for breath, Buffy finished her beer. "Whoa."
He poured them each another round as the guitar solo started.
Buffy gave him a suspicious look. "You trying to get me drunk so you can
have your way with me?"
"Slayer, I can smell your arousal." Spike grinned and drank his second
shot as she sputtered and turned red. "I don't think alcohol is
necessary to get you into bed."
"What about Drusilla?" she choked out.
"Oh, I'm going to find her," he said with all sincerity. "I'm going to
find her, beat her, fuck her within an inch of her unlife and drag her
somewhere she hates. Russia I think. No one fun in Russia to party with."
"Good plan." Buffy took a careful sip of her second drink. It went down
a little smoother and she began to feel all warm and tingly.
"So...what's happened between us the last few days..." she began carefully.
Spike's eyes narrowed and went hot as he looked at her flushed face and
moist lips. "You know as well as I do, Buffy, that there can never be
anything between us...unless you want me to turn you."
"Thanks for the offer, but that's really not my goal in life," she
quipped as she slammed back the rest of her drink.
Their eyes met, both unreadable and deep. Each felt a hint of sorrow at
what could never be, but they nodded at each other and smiled in
understanding. Spike poured them each another drink and they raised
their glasses.
"To getting our lives and unlives straightened out," he proposed.
"To mortal enemies...who sometimes can become surprising friends."
The glasses clinked and they threw back the burning tequila.
*****
It was midnight when they left the bar, arms wrapped around each other's
waist. Spike had consumed three times as much alcohol as Buffy, but she
was much more drunk. As he half carried her down the street, she giggled.
"Wooo, that shaquilla sure packs a wallop."
"Tequila."
"Thass what I said. Whoa, look at the stop light. Something really wrong
there. All blurry."
"I think that's your vision, pet."
Buffy pulled away from him and staggered towards the light post. "Nope,
still blurry."
Spike caught her before she stumbled into the street. Scooping her into
his arms, he slung her over his shoulder, groaning. "For such a petite
thing, you sure do weigh a lot."
She kicked him in the stomach and growled. "All the shaquilla."
Rolling his eyes, Spike continued down the street.
"I really liked that last song, Shpike. Wha was it again?"
"The Grand Illusion by Styx."
"Pick up sticks?"
"No, like the river."
"Gran' Illushion...Thass what life is, Shpike. One big ol'
illushion...and a kinda blurry one." She giggled, then began to caress
his ass. "You know what? You got a great ass. All hard and muscley an'
tight, tight buns, buns o' steel."
"Slayer," Spike growled and jogged her on his shoulder.
Buffy moaned and clutched his ass tighter. "Gonna make me barf."
"Maybe I overdid it on the getting her drunk part of the evening," Spike
muttered as he tried to walk carefully.
They made it into her trailer without further incident. As he hit the
light switch, Spike set her on her feet and stepped back. Buffy turned
green and bolted for the bathroom.
"Definitely overdid it." Flopping on the couch, Spike lit a cigarette
and watched the smoke swirl up to the ceiling.
*****
Slowly dragging her trembling body up the counter from her slumped,
kneeling position, Buffy stared into the space where the mirror used to
be. Flushing the toilet, she winced at the noise, then scrabbled in the
medicine cabinet for some tylenol.
As she tipped her head back to swallow the tablets, everything went
swirly again and she bent over, panting. "Oh shit," she moaned, closing
her eyes against the waves of dizziness.
After a few minutes, she carefully opened her eyes. The room didn't spin
very quickly, which she took as a good sign. Finding her toothbrush, she
got rid of the nasty taste in her mouth, then patted a damp cloth on her
face.
Feeling slightly better, Buffy slowly, carefully returned to the living
room.
"Feeling better, pet?" Spike asked.
"Peachy," she replied through gritted teeth. Carefully she sat down on
the couch, trying not to make anything bounce, muttering, "Damn vampire,
damn vampire ability to drink and not barf..."
Spike chuckled and put out his cigarette. "Have I ever mentioned how
amusing you are?"
If looks could kill, he'd have been a crispy critter from the glare
aimed his way.
"And lovely, quite lovely. The hint of green in your cheeks brings out
the color of your eyes."
"Keep it up, Spike," she whispered hoarsely. "Keep on goading me, that's
right."
He laughed some more and watched her turn from green to red. "I told you
that four glasses were enough."
"You could have stopped pouring the damn stuff."
"You threatened to stake me right there in the bar."
Buffy squinted as she tried to remember. A vague memory flashed in front
of her glazed eyes. "Oh...right...and you laughed at me."
"I haven't laughed like this in weeks...and I bet neither have you," he
replied softly.
"Is that sweet talk?" she asked suspiciously.
Spike grinned. "Is it working?"
Buffy thought about it for a minute, then sighed and staggered to her
feet. "If you want a goodbye fuck, you better come get it now before I
pass out."
The room spun and she swayed, then stumbled towards the hall really
hoping she wouldn't run into the wall that kept moving before her eyes.
Her bedroom was dark and quiet. Two more steps and she fell face first
onto the bed, snoring.
Spike strolled into the bedroom and turned on the bedside lamp. Grinning
at the sound of snoring, he began to pull off his clothes, tossing them
negligently on the floor. Naked, he stretched. He wasn't really tired,
but he'd fed earlier in the evening and he couldn't think of anything
better to do then wait for the slayer to wake up.
Crouching at her feet, he slid her sandals off, tossing them over his
shoulder, then ran his hands up her smooth calves and thighs, feeling
the tight muscles. Rolling the limp girl onto her back, Spike pulled her
shorts and panties off, then lifted her enough to wriggle her out of her
tank top.
Laying down on the bed, he tugged Buffy into his arms, pillowing her
head on his shoulder.
*****
Near dawn, Buffy woke with a groan. Her head hurt, though the pain was
no longer blinding. As she blinked her eyes open, the room swam for a
moment, then settled down.
Realizing she was laying half on top of something cold and hard, Buffy
looked down and saw Spike's body. His naked body. Glancing up, she saw
him looking at her.
"I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever wake up, Slayer."
Buffy's eyes narrowed as scattered memories of the previous night came
back. "You got me drunk."
"You helped," he replied tolerantly.
"I barfed."
"Without my help."
"Did we...?" She blushed hotly as she realized she couldn't remember.
"I may be a demon, but I do have limits, luv. I prefer my bedmates to be
non-corpse like."
"Uh huh. Is that why you were with Drusilla for over a hundred years?"
Spike grinned and ran his hand through her hair. "That's the bitchy
slayer I love...well, in a 'love to fuck and fight with' way," he
hastily qualified.
"Uh huh." Yawning and groaning, she struggled into a sitting position,
then squirmed. "Um, I'll be back in a sec." Flushing, she hurried to the
bathroom.
In complete admiration, Spike watched her ass jiggle.
When she returned, she quickly scrambled under the sheet.
"Buffy, I HAVE seen you naked, you know."
"I know," she mumbled, trying not to focus her eyes on his own nudity.
"But...we haven't done it yet...tonight, I mean, and it's weird."
"Well, how about we remedy that?" Grabbing the sheet, Spike tugged it
away from her breasts and urged her onto her back, leering over her.
Leaning down, he covered her mouth with his, kissing her deeply.
Sighing in sudden pleasure, Buffy twined her arms around his neck and
pulled him on top of her. Arching her back, she pressed her breasts
against his chest, rubbing her nipples until they began to harden and
send bolts of lust through her.
Kissing her deeply, Spike slid his under the sheet, shoving it down
farther as he caressed the smooth skin of her stomach and hips. Rolling
onto his side, he pulled her with him, his hands cupping her ass,
kneading gently.
Gasping for breath, Buffy pulled her mouth free, then hungrily ran her
lips over his cheeks and jaw, around to his ear. A hot, damp feeling
swelled between her thighs and she licked the sensitive spot behind his
ear, catching the lobe between her teeth, before moving on.
Groaning in pleasure as she sucked on his Adam's apple, Spike felt his
cock stir to life and pulled her closer, his hands running over her,
kneading and caressing. One of her legs wrapped around his waist and she
rubbed against his erection, whimpering in growing desire.
Sliding farther down his body, placing nipping kisses on every bit of
flesh she could reach, Buffy rolled Spike onto his back. As she tongued
his navel, making him grunt lustily, her hand slid between his thighs to
caress his staff.
"Buffy..."
"Shh." As she raised her head, another wave of dizziness hit her and
Buffy smiled, still a little drunk. "I've never done this before," she
mumbled as she lowered her lips over his penis, sucking it inside her
hot mouth.
"Shit pet," Spike hissed, his hips bucking against her as she sucked him
like a popsicle.
"Ummmm, cold," she murmured in delight before resuming her head bobbing.
"Are you sure you've never done this?" he gasped, his eyes nearly
crossing at the sensations running through his hard flesh.
Lifting her head, Buffy grinned and straddled his thighs. Leaning
forward, she pressed her mouth to his, her tongue searching for his.
Grunting in lust, Spike caught her breasts as they swayed above his
chest. His fingers twisted her pebbled nipples until she moaned against
his lips and squirmed.
Bucking his hips against her, Spike groaned as he felt her wetness
soaking into his straining erection. One hand remaining on her breast,
the other headed south and delved between her trembling legs, brushing
past the damp curls to find her hot, swollen flesh.
Buffy jerked, then pressed against his fingers. "Yes, please," she
begged, then buried her mouth in his neck as her pelvis ground down on him.
Grabbing her hips, Spike lifted her and impaled her on his cock,
grunting harshly.
Splaying her hands on his chest, Buffy whimpered in lust and began to
move on him, slowly at first, then quicker as she picked up the
instinctive rhythm. Spike's hands guided her for a few minutes, then
reached up to fondle her swaying breasts.
Panting as her desire grew, Buffy threw her head back, then winced as
the room spun. Digging her fingernails into Spike's chest, she closed
her eyes and moved faster, grinding her clitoris against his hard pubic
bone on each down stroke.
Suddenly, Spike rolled them, coming over her smoothly, thrusting hard
and fast into her grasping channel. Groaning his name, Buffy arched up
and wrapped her legs around his churning hips, as her hands clutched his
arms.
Their lips met in ferocious need and they bit and sucked as their flesh
slapped together and the bed banged against the wall.
Slamming her lithe body against his, Buffy keened and exploded into
orgasm, her body shuddering as release flooded her.
Feeling her clenching around him, Spike hissed and let himself go,
driving for his own climax as she whimpered beneath him, her heels
drumming against his ass.
Growling, he came, thrusting hard and deep before collapsing on top of
her, his head in the crook of her neck.
Buffy slowly relaxed, her legs falling away from him, her hands slipping
from his arms, as her body calmed down and her breathing evened out. Her
head still swam, but the warm glow deep inside her was worth the
annoying dizziness.
Groaning in pleasure, Spike moved off her. As he flopped on his back,
Buffy curled up against him, closing her eyes.
"That was nice," she mumbled sleepily.
"Very nice," he answered softly, looking down into her peaceful face. A
bloody sight better than nice. Chuckling softly at his own thoughts,
Spike reached down to pull the sheet over them and turned off the lamp.
Closing his eyes, he gently rubbed her shoulder and back as he listened
to her drift to sleep. As the sun began to rise behind the thick, dark
curtains, he pulled her closer and joined her in slumber.
*****
By the time Spike awoke the next evening, Buffy had quit her job, said
goodbye to her friends, given up her trailer and was nearly packed for
the ten o'clock bus west.
Stretching, Spike sat up and watched her stuffing clothes into a duffel
bag.
"Going somewhere, luv?"
At his voice, Buffy spun around and gave him a quick smile. "Yeah. Back
home."
Looking at her determined face, he nodded in understanding. "Probably a
good idea." Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he reached for
his jeans and dragged them on.
"So...what are you going to do?" she asked hesitantly.
Spike answered as he looked around for his shirt. "I'm off to New
Orleans. Going to find my woman and explain to her exactly why she's my
woman."
Buffy tried not to smile, but couldn't help it when he knelt and stuck
his butt in the air while he looked under the bed.
"Where the Hell is my shirt?" he growled.
"It's in the hall, for some reason."
Shaking his head, Spike stomped into the hall and came back, yanking his
t-shirt over his head. Buffy pulled the drawstrings on her bag, then sat
down on the bed to put on her shoes.
Feeling Spike's eyes on her, she looked up into his inscrutable expression.
After a minute of silence, he spoke softly. "Well, I guess this is it."
"Uh huh." Buffy rose to her feet and reached for her bag.
Her hand was intercepted by Spike's and he tugged her into his arms,
grinning down on her. "It's been interesting, Slayer."
Smiling up at him, feeling strangely giddy, Buffy wrapped her arms
around his neck and pulled his mouth down to hers for a tender kiss.
"Remember me," she whispered against his lips before stepping back out
of his arms.
"Oh, I think you're unforgettable, Buffy."
Flushing slightly, she grabbed her bag and walked out the door.
As he watched her leave, Spike's lips twisted into a quirky smile and he
wondered just how long he would be able to stay away from her.
For, even if they never slept together again, she was just too much damn
fun to be around. And, for an eternal vampire, fun was often in short
supply.
Friends, lovers, mortal enemies... The labels didn't really matter. The
connection was there and could never be broken.
End
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